


Please Come Around Tonight

by taormina



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: Changing Perspectives, First Time, M/M, POV First Person, consensual underage handjobs, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 00:31:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8123605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: Mark gets a lot more than he bargained for when he stupidly decides to climb through Gary’s bedroom window in the middle of the night. Part of Take That Fiction’s first writing challenge. Theme: ‘Throwing Stones’.





	

MARK

My curtains are drawn halfway, but I can still see the light in Gary’s bedroom flicker on with a bit of an effort. It always does that, like it’s hesitating whether it wants to do anything today. In my head, I can already hear the sound my own desk lamp makes when I turn it on. I wonder if Gary ever thinks of me when he’s in his room too. I hope he does.

I don’t want to admit it, but I was waiting for this to happen. I was waiting for Gary to come home tonight because I’ll be able to talk to him again. We ‘talk’ here often, in our identical but separated bedrooms. We’ll take turns writing messages on pieces of paper or the insides of our text books and have entire conversations at our windowsills like we’re in one of those cheesy chick flicks my sister watches. I always toss the pieces of paper into my trash bin afterwards, so my parents don’t know we do it. They don’t have to. It’s our own little secret.

Sometimes I wish we could just phone like normal people, but we’ve only got a landline in the kitchen and our bedroom windows face each other so we might as well. And I’ve never told him this, but I really, really ( _really_ ) like looking at Gary. He’s lean and handsome. He’s only a year older. His blonde hair sometimes looks a bit flat after he’s been to school, but then he runs his hands through his hair before we start talking and I get the weirdest feeling in my belly. The only other time I’ve ever felt something like it was when one of my mates got us cheap concert tickets at the local club and the lights went out. It’s a little bit like that, except with Gary the butterflies always come when he turns his lights on.

We don’t talk much outside of our houses. Gary’s got about thirty different hobbies so he’s away from home most of the time, and I wouldn’t want my family to find out how I feel about him anyway. I’m different with him. Happier, all because he moved into the opposite house nine months ago. The garden is the only thing that really separates us.

Lately, I’ve felt like sneaking out and making my way to Gary’s bedroom in the middle of the night, but I don’t really know why. We’ve not even kissed yet. We haven’t even held hands like proper couples do, and holding hands is a really big step as far as I’m concerned. I really want to do all the sweet things with him first, but at the same time I wouldn’t mind doing a bit more. I’m not really sure what ‘more’ is exactly, but I bet it’s nice as long as it’s with a lad like Gary.

It wouldn’t be easy, though. I’d first have to leave the house without being seen, and then there’s the fence that separates our garden from the Barlows’. It’s really high. I wouldn’t be able to look over it even if stood on tiptoes. (I think my mum was fibbing when she told me I’d get taller if I drank enough milk.) There’s also no romantic wall of ivy outside Gary’s window or a balcony I can jump onto, but I can try. I want to.

GARY

Every part of my body’s telling me it needs sleep, but my mind doesn’t. Music, that’s what I need. I’m not planning to succumb to early bedtimes or bloody geography homework that still needs finishing.

As usual, I’m absolutely knackered when I come home from my evening piano lessons. I don’t feel like doing any prep for school tomorrow, so I sling and shove my bag underneath my desk so I won’t even have to look at it and fish my voice recorder from the top of a shelf. It’s an old little thing, my recorder, but I’m still able to use it if I apply the right pressure to the buttons. The paychecks from my weekend job performing at a local pub are a joke to be honest and my parents still won’t allow me to sing full-time, so this old thing will have to do. I think I’ve probably run out of new cassettes as well.

It’s a tough job writing music like this, but someone’s got to do it. One day, I’ll own my own studio. For now, I have to do everything I want here.

My eyes feel tired already, but my creativity is stronger. I put my recorder on my desk and tiredly flip open my third lyrics book of the month. It’s filled with post-its and newspaper cut-outs about stars I think are interesting. Most of the lyrics aren’t very good, but the one I came up with yesterday shows promise already.

My eyes flick to Mark’s bedroom window when I think I see his curtains move, but it’s probably just my fatigue. He’s usually still at football practice at this time of day, and my heart gives a foolish little kick when I think about Mark in his skimpy football shorts with his legs bare and his athletic body covered in sweat. I know I’m not meant to be thinking about it, but fuck it. Mark’s causing me enough sexual frustration as is. It’s not like making it worse is going to make a bloody difference.

I don’t know how long I’ve been living in this hell hole now, but Mark’s the only thing that’s kept me sane, emotionally and physically. (By ‘physically’ I mean I do a lot of late-night wanking. How my mother copes with buying so many tissue boxes each month I don’t know.) Without him, I’d probably have left a long, long time ago, and I do mean that sincerely.

He’s just something else, that lad. When we moved in here a year or so ago, Mark was the first neighbour to knock on our door. He’d brought a cute housewarming gift and told us to just come round if we ever needed anything, and my mum was completely enamoured by him from the off. I wasn’t at first. My parents liking the neighbours meant that they’d already moved on from the previous house emotionally, and I wasn’t ready for that yet. Moving out made me lose my job and my mates. I was no longer in touch with them.

I had to change schools too, but I didn’t care about that because I already knew what I wanted to be when I was older anyway. I’ve always wanted to become a performer, but then our moving forced me to quite my singing job at one of my mate’s pubs and find something else. It had taken me about three months of constantly running around our old town to convince one of the local pubs to take in a house singer.

The new job’s all right, but it doesn’t pay as much and the crowds aren’t that great so I spent the first two months hating just about everything in this town. Then Mark showed up at his adjacent bedroom window one night holding a piece of paper, and everything changed. The paper said ‘HOW ARE YOU?’ in big black letters, and an hour later we were still writing each other messages. It started off pretty awkwardly, but once we’d both gotten over each other’s handwriting we were able to talk about just about anything if we wanted to. And I did. I don’t know why Mark’s messages prompted me to spill out how I was feeling, but something about him just made me feel more comfortable than I’d ever been.

MARK

My parents don’t know how I feel about Gary. They still think I fancy this girl I once kissed at a party at school. They don’t know that it’s a story I made up because friends and family kept asking me if I’d already had a girlfriend. Sometimes I pretend that the girl doesn’t know I like her so people will stop asking me questions. I hate lying to everyone, but I’m still pretty clueless when it comes to relationships and I don’t want to ‘come out’. I’ve heard bad stories about girls and boys who have, and I’d hate to end up like them.

I’m really inexperienced for someone my age. I think I held hands with a guy once, but he looked pretty disgusted with me afterwards and I still don’t know if it was because I’m a boy or because he’s just not a hand-holding type of person. Gary’s the only other gay guy I know, but I don’t have a crush on him just because he’s the only choice. He’s just been dead sweet to me, and I know that if I asked he’d let me kiss him. I want that first time to be with _him_ , not with a girl or someone I don’t trust.

It’s getting late. I’m still playing with the idea of coming round tonight, but I don’t know if I should. I’ve only been to Gary’s house a few times, but I’ve never even been to Gary’s bedroom at all even though it probably looks a bit like mine.

GARY

My room’s a bloody mess, but I try to make it work. I tiredly dump some of the shit on my desk onto my bed and start working on my song. My foot bumps into the school rucksack underneath my desk, so I shove it farther into the shadows while I stifle a big yawn. If anyone asks why I didn’t do my homework I’ll just lie my dog ate it or that I fell asleep while doing it. The latter wouldn’t even be that much of a stretch.

The lyrics I’m working on came to me only yesterday. They’re not very good, but I know that with a bit of tinkering I could turn it into something really brilliant tonight. I selfishly hope that Mark’s indeed at football practice so I won’t get distracted by his amazing head of hair when he comes back home, but then I see the gap between Mark’s drawn curtains turn pitch black as if someone’s turned out the lights.

MARK

I’ve decided to go down. The decision has made my heart beat like mad, but I’m gonna go down and convince Gary to let me in anyway. It’ll be an adventure.

I deliberately put on a fresh outfit in the dark – baggy pants and a simple black t-shirt that I know Gary likes – and sneak out of my room as quietly as I can. It’s still early, eight or nine o’clock or something, but I’m not really supposed to go out after dark because I’m meant up to wake early for school and then football practice tomorrow. (It’s no fun being a teenager sometimes, you know. Everyone expects you to do homework and have a job and play sports you don’t like when actually all you wanna do is just have a bit of a laugh . . .) I think my sister’s still doing girly stuff in her room, so I tiptoe past her door and make my way to the stairs. When I look down, I can see the light from the television flicker on the floor. I’ll have to be careful.

I slowly walk down the stairs. I try not to rush it. I know the fourth step from above creaks, so I skip it and hope I don’t lose my footing. I go slow. I reach the second to last step and have to avoid my sister’s cat sleeping next to a pair of dirty wellies. The next step gives a complaining squeak when I step on it, but the noise from the television manages to drown it out.

The rest is easy. I tiptoe to the closet where we keep our shoes and put on my best trainers in the shadows of our hallway. I don’t bother with my coat. I look over to my shoulder, but I don’t see my parents standing in the opening to the living room. Judging by the flickering light, they’re still watching telly from their sofas.

I whisper an apology at the air, then try not to feel guilty when I snatch my dad’s keys from the top of a cabinet and open the door. The cold night air catches me by surprise, but I try not to think about it too much when I close the door behind me with a soft _click_. I wait and listen in the darkness of our front yard to make sure no-one has noticed me leaving, then head back into the opposite direction.

If I want to enter Gary’s garden and reach his bedroom window, climbing the old wheelie bin in our own back garden is probably my best option. Our houses are mirror images of each other, so our gardens and bedroom windows face each other. Sometimes my sister’s cat slips in through a hole in the fence and ends up eating Gary’s mum’s flowers, but I don’t think I’ll be able to fit through it myself. I won’t bother trying. Taking the easy, civilized route to Gary’s front door would require me to leave my porch and sort of walk _round_ the fence rather than climb it, but I’m feeling kinda brave tonight. I’ve always been quite polite and obedient, and for some reason I feel like breaking a couple of rules tonight. It makes me feel like I’m in a film.

By the time I reach the garden, I’m already shaking. It’s a lot colder than I thought it would be, but the thought of seeing Gary again keeps me going. I know he’s not expecting me, but I hope he’ll be pleased when he sees me. I know I would be.

Neither of us has been brave enough to say it, but we’ve been acting different around each other lately. It feels like we’re more intimate, Gary and me. A couple of nights ago he looked at me in a certain way and I felt really, you know, good inside. And the next morning, when we left our houses at the same time and bumped into each other on the street, his hand brushed mine and I thought I could see him smile at me. Something has changed between us, for sure. I can’t describe it properly, but it’s like all our meetings are leading up to this one thing.

I just wish I knew that that thing _is._

It’s hard to find my way in the dark. Only the light from the streetlights at the other side of the fence is there to help me find my way in my own garden. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I left my house at one in the morning rather than 9PM. It feels that way, somehow. Maybe it’s just my nervousness playing games with my head.

Finally, I manage to find the old wheelie bin propped up against our old shed. It looks a little knackered, but it should hold when I climb on top of it. I wouldn’t be able to climb the fence itself — it’s too wet and its edge is too high for me to hold on to it. (I did try once, you know. I was playing football with a couple of mates and accidentally kicked the ball into the Barlows’ garden, so I thought I’d climb the fence and ended up looking like a bit of a twat. In the end, Gary had to hand us the ball on our porch.)

I shuffle the wheelie bin free from its grassy position and slowly pull it towards the fence. It’s not light, but it’s not heavy either. I manage to move it a few feet every couple of seconds quite easily. I don’t want to know how suspicious I look.

The closer I get to the fence the more anxious I get, so I try my hardest to focus on something else. I try my heartbeat, but it’s beating so fast that it only reminds me of how nervous I am. Taking deep, controlled breaths doesn’t help either. Neither does picturing Gary in his room — it only makes me more terrified.

I eventually decide to focus on the sound of the wheelie scraping the grass when my foot catches a root and I fall, hard.

GARY

I jerk awake. A distant _oof_ wakes me.

I listen again, but the sound doesn’t come back. It was probably just the Owens’ cat.

I look down at my desk and find my lyrics book smudged with ink and what looks like my own drool. _Brilliant_. (!) I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, but I haven’t made any progress on my song judging by the lack of new lyrics.

Defeated, I turn the notebook face down and run my hands through my hair. I know I ought to go to bed if I want to be awake enough to drag myself through another pointless day at school tomorrow, but the urge to write is stronger. It always is. I just need to get hold of myself and pull myself through this. I can’t just spend an entire fucking day away from home and turn in immediately. Who the hell does that?

MARK

I’m concentrating hard on the sounds all around me when I stumble over a tree root and take the entire wheelie bin clattering to the ground with me. I fail to stifle a yelp, but thankfully the wheelie’s completely empty so it hardly makes a sound when it hits the grass and I land on top of it. I dread to think what would have happened if the wheelie was filled with trash. I don’t think Gary would have taken me in anymore.  

Embarrassed, I scramble back onto my two feet and pull the wheelie back onto its wheels. I listen for any sounds from the house, but I don’t think anyone heard anything. My parents are probably still watching telly in the living room.  

I continue making my way to the edge of the garden. I go slower this time, and I think I’ve been in the garden for about ten minutes when I finally manage to shove the wheelie bin against the garden fence. Its surface is a bit smooth, but I still manage to climb on top of it and swing one leg over the fence. I push my other leg against the wheelie bin a bit too enthusiastically, and the poor thing tumbles over and hits the ground hard before I do.

GARY

I hear another unfamiliar _oof!_ It’s louder this time, so I get up from my desk chair and look out of the window. Predictably, I can’t see a thing. Even Mark’s curtains give no sign of life. He probably came home from football practice feeling as tired as I did and did the right thing and turned in, bless him.

He’s just a really good lad, Mark is. He’ll always say goodbye and thank you to the bus driver and he’ll help an old lady cross the street without a second thought. If a cat ends up being stuck in a tree, he’ll be the one actually climbing the tree instead of just calling 999. I don’t think he’s ever stepped a foot out of line. Everyone in the neighbourhood just fucking loves him, and if he doesn’t have time to chat after dark, it’s usually because he still has to finish his homework like a good boy should. He’s probably never skipped school or cheated on an exam.

I have no idea how he does it.

School isn’t bad, but it’s just no fun compared to the gigs I do. It’s like nothing I’ve ever done. The reaction you get from the crowd is just absolutely _incredible_ , regardless of how old they are or how much Coke they’ve had. They don’t always like the songs I do and the pay’s still fucking terrible compared to my previous job in Frodsham, but anything’s better than pulling myself through another bloody English lesson. I don’t want to spend my entire evenings working on my homework like Mark.

But I digress. I assume the weird sounds I heard came from the Owens’ cat and turn my attention back to my song. I’m too knackered to add anything, but I highlight a couple of lyrics I don’t like and hope I’ll remember to change them in the morning. I keep yawning as I do, so eventually I have to give in to what my body needs and put away my notebook.

I leave my voice recorder on my desk in case I wake up in the middle of the night with a melody stuck in my head. I’ve written my best songs that way.

After I’ve more or less cleaned my desk, I turn on my old office chair and tiredly fish my pyjamas from underneath my pillows. I only manage to take off my clothes and change into my pyjama pants before I doze off, half-dressed, in my chair.

MARK

The first thing I do is check whether I’ve broken anything from the fall. I haven’t, I think, so I get up from the hard, grassy ground and brush the leaves off my bum. It feels a bit painful, but I’m all right. I’m just happy that I haven’t woken anyone. A quick glance at the Barlows’ side of the fence tells me there’s no way back into my own garden without walking past their house, and I feel a guilty kick in my tummy when I realize that I’m trespassing on someone else’s property. I hope Gary doesn’t mind when he finds out.

I look up at Gary’s bedroom window on the first floor. From here, I can see a magazine poster of Depeche Mode on the wall. On mine, there’s a poster of my favourite football club next to a bigger one of Madonna. I don’t fancy her, but I like to pretend that I do because it stops people from asking awkward questions when they come round.

The Depeche Mode poster is the only thing I can see from this spot. The desk lamp I always watch for a sign that Gary’s at home is hidden behind a curtain. The light’s still on, but I do find myself hoping that he hasn’t fallen asleep like on previous nights when I wanted to talk to him.

I don’t know why, but he’s always very tired, Gary is. He has a proper job singing in an under-18s pub at weekends and sometimes he’s so tired that he can’t even say hi to me. It’s like he’s an old man. I don’t always mind, but I hope he’s got a bit more energy tonight. If he doesn’t answer, I’ll probably get caught and get into a lot of trouble with, you know, police and neighbours and stuff. I don’t think I’d ever admit that I trespassed to talk to a _boy_.

I haven’t yet thought about what I’ll do if Gary does allow me to come in, though. Kissing would be nice, I guess. I bet Gary’s really good at it. Maybe we could hold hands as well, but anything else would be completely alien to me. It’s something I’ve never, ever done before, although I know Gary has. He always looks at me like he has.

The ground at my feet is covered with leaves. Next to that, my shoe hits a narrow path of small, bean-sized pebbles. An idea comes to me. I scoop up a handful of stones, then look at Gary’s window and feel a strange, nervous thrill wash over me.

I’ve never done something like this before. I always go to bed at nine. I always do my homework and never cheat on exams. I usually look away when there’s adult scenes on telly even though I’m already sixteen. When I fancy someone, I’m always too nervous to do something about it. And when I do, the lads I like always turn me down.

What if Gary does too?

I try not to think about it. I take a deep breath. I tell myself that what I’m about to do is not weird at all.

I’m absolutely terrified when I take one of the pebbles in my hand and throw it, poorly, against the window pane. It doesn’t even make a noise. My next throw is even poorer. I try to aim better, but I throw so hard that the pebble lands against the Barlows’ chimney. I catch myself thinking that if I’m not more careful I’ll definitely get caught, and I have to press my hand on my chest to stay my heartbeat. This is so _weird_.

I try again. I’m careful. I remind myself that I’m good at football and that I should be able to throw a silly stone against someone else’s bedroom window. I aim. My sister’s cat shoots out of the hole in the fence so unexpectedly that I start and almost stumble. She then gives me a strange, judgmental look and disappears into the shadows again with her furry tail held high. She must have seen me leave after all and followed me into the garden.

I tell myself it’s not a sign. I don’t want to consider the possibility that it is.

I hear the distant sounds of passers-by on the street beyond the garden fence, and I wait before I throw the next pebble.

GARY

I’m at Earl’s Court, hidden in darkness behind a long, black curtain that separates me from my audience.

I’ve done this before, so I’m not nervous. I know exactly what I’m doing. Only a gentle stutter of my heartbeat reminds me that I’m about to perform to a crowd as large and exciting as my career.

The lights go on and the curtain falls, and I see a sea of people looking back at me. They go wild when they recognize me.

The music kicks in and I put my mike to my mouth, but instead of my voice I hear a short sound I don’t recognise.

I try again, but the sound becomes louder. It becomes a disturbance. The crowd has heard it too.

I turn to my own band for an explanation, but when I blink I only see my own reflection staring back at me in my bedroom window. I’ve managed to doze off again. I see that I haven’t even managed to get dressed properly; I’m already in my pyjama pants but I’ve left my shirt on the floor. I reach out to grab it on the floor when I hear the same sound I heard in my dream.

I didn’t imagine it, then.

I get up from my chair to look out of the window properly. The sound reaches my ears again, and I suddenly realise that it’s the sound of something hitting the glass in front of me. What, I don’t know.

All I know is that I’m being a bloody idiot when curiosity gets the better of me and I decide to open my bedroom window. 

MARK

My heart speeds up when I see the vague shape of Gary’s body. His hands reach for the handles on his window. He’s about to open his window and find out I’m here. He’s heard me. It’s worked!

Then I realise he’s naked.

Like, shirtless.

Gary’s shirtless.

The window makes a soft squeak as Gary pushes it open, and I struggle for words. I don’t know what’s come over me. I think ‘er’ is the only thing I manage to blurt out when my eyes fall on Gary’s naked chest.

Gary looks equally puzzled when he recognizes me in the glow of his desk lamp and looks down at me with those big, green eyes of his. He squints as though he can’t believe I’m standing here. ‘ _Mark_? What are you doing?’

I can still only reply in vowel sounds. I guiltily shove the remaining pebbles in my hands in my baggy pants and try not look at Gary’s chest again. I fail miserably and feel my temperature rise. Gary always gets dressed with his curtains closed, so I’ve never seen him shirtless before. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone shirtless ever unless you count the lads at football practice, but they’re not really my type.

(Gary definitely is, though.)

Gary eventually sees me staring, and he utters a petrified sound of realization when he looks down at his chest. I don’t think he noticed he didn’t have a shirt on.

‘Be right back,’ he squeaks before disappearing into his room. I don’t want to know what Gary was doing before I came knocking on his door. I hear shuffling and the unmistakeable sound of someone’s head hitting a foreign object followed by a loud curse, and a second later Gary reappears fully dressed. I hate how disappointed I feel.

GARY

I can’t believe Mark’s seen me naked. And that he’s standing outside my window. I mean, God, I’ve been waiting to get that lad naked for a while now, but this is something else. This is just _asking_ for trouble.

I feel more awake, instantly. I look down at the shape of Mark’s body in the half-dark. I can see him clearly now, but nothing of it makes sense. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask again.

Maybe my hearing’s going already, but Mark’s answer makes no sense at all: ‘Iwaswonderingifyoucouldletmein,’ he says in a single, nervous breath. I haven’t understood a single word. I wish he’d come closer, but he seems rooted on the spot.

Then I see the dirt on his trousers and a Mark-shaped patch on the lawn as if something big landed there, and everything slots into place.

‘Hang on,’ I say, my eyes switching between the fence and my cute neighbour, ‘did you just climb over our fence?’

Mark seems to consider what to say next. I can see him thinking. ‘No,’ he mumbles. And then, guiltily, ‘Yes . . .’

It would explain the sounds I heard in between dozing off. Mark must’ve climbed the fence from his own back yard and fallen, hard. I don’t know how he pulled it off, but the idea that Mark went through all that trouble just for me fills my head with thoughts that are too dark to mention. I try not to let them get to me. For now.

‘Why?’ I ask. I’ve already got an idea, but I need to know for sure.

Mark swallows. ‘I wanted to see you. I mean, you know, _see you_ see you.’

I think what he means is that he wanted to see me up close tonight. I decide to take a gamble. ‘Would you like to come in?’

Mark nods a couple of times in quick succession. ‘Yes, please, Gary,’ he says, followed by a sigh of relief.

I try to ignore how keen Mark sounds. I peek over the edge of my window and inspect the state of the garden. At first glance, I don’t see anything that might help Mark climb to the first floor. I’m quite high up, at least seven feet from the ground. Even a tall person would struggle. ‘Wouldn’t you rather use the front door?’ I offer, but Mark shakes his resolutely. He doesn’t have to explain what he means. This has to stay secret.

I keep on looking when my gaze lands on a plant pot in front of the fence and I remember a ladder my mum uses to display her plant pots. It’s mostly a bit of aesthetics now, but it was used as a proper ladder before my mum turned it into a bright yellow garden prop. It should be able to get Mark to the first floor quite safely.

‘There’s a ladder just round the corner,’ I tell Mark. He’s come closer, and I can see that his face has become a mix of fear and excitement. Maybe Mark’s not such a good boy after all. ‘There’s a couple of plant pots on it but if you carry it here you should be able to reach the window. I can come down and help you if you wanna?’

Mark frowns. ‘But then we’ll both be stuck down here.’

I cringe at my own stupidity. ‘Oh yeah. Sorry.’

‘No problem. Just round the corner, you said?’

I nod, and I let out a nervous breath I didn’t know I was holding when I watch Mark leave. This is absolutely bonkers, this is. Mark’s the last person I’d ever suspect of doing something so bloody reckless. If we get caught word will no doubt spread that we want to be more than friends. Our lives in this town will be over.

But it also excites me. I could hear how keen Mark was when he spoke.

He _wants_ this.

MARK

It’s not hard to find the ladder. It’s a wooden one covered in yellow paint, and every step is decorated with two or three small plant pots with flowers in them. I eventually manage to put all of Gary’s mum’s plant pots on the ground as carefully as I can and start moving the old stepladder towards Gary’s window. In my mind, I remind myself to put back the plant pots later. The ladder’s heavy and much bigger than me, but the excitement I feel makes it lighter. I think it’s adrenaline. I’ve never felt anything like it.

Gary’s giving me directions from his window. He’s whispering, so I can barely hear him. ‘Just a bit closer, Mark,’ he says. ‘That’s it. Move it an inch? There we go.’

A couple of minutes later the ladder is in place. I look at the distance between it and the window again, and I realize with a little kick that the ladder’s not big enough at all. I might fall.

I might _die_.

Gary sees me measure up the distance between the ground and the first floor. ‘Are you all right, Mark?’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t know if the ladder’s big enough.’ It isn’t. It ends at least two feet below Gary’s window pane. I don’t know how it’s supposed to help me get into his bedroom.

‘Course it is,’ says Gary. He sounds more confident than me. ‘I’ll catch you if you fall.’

‘What if I fall the other way?’

‘You won’t.’

I’m not convinced. I look at the ground in front of Gary’s window. It’s mostly just pebbles and old garden supplies, but there’s also a metal rake with leaves still stuck to it. It looks a bit scary in the light of Gary’s desk lamp. I might have survived falling twice before tonight, but I might not this time.

I feel my hands slide off the sides of the ladder. ‘Maybe this was a bad idea,’ I say.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Gary says, with urgency. He shoves some things off his desk and leans his hands on the window sill. The light of his desk lamp almost makes his arms look muscular, even though they aren’t. ‘If you fall I’ll come down and give you mouth-to-mouth, okay?’

I laugh in spite of myself. I like how Gary always manages to cheer me up. I guess that’s one of the reasons why I love him. ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘but if I die I’m gonna be really mad at you, all right?’

‘Deal. Now come up here.’

I shuffle the ladder a little bit forwards until I’m confident it’s in the correct position and start climbing it slowly. I know it’s only a short stepladder, but I’m still scared I’ll fall and hit my head. To calm myself, I tell myself I’m on the ladder I once used to hang up my favourite poster of Madonna. I didn’t fall then, so I won’t now.

Eventually I reach the top step. I’m still nowhere near Gary’s window, so I have no choice but to stand on the top cap and place my hand on the brick wall to steady myself. I think someone once told me that doing something like this is really dangerous, but I do it anyway and eventually find myself on the same angle as Gary’s desk light. I can already see the walls of his bedroom. There’s a distance of only about two feet between me and Gary’s window, but in the dark it looks like twenty.

I feel my body shake. I try to steady myself, but I feel like I’m walking on a tightrope.

Gary makes an inward motion with his hands. ‘Come on,’ he says, beckoning me.

I want to open my mouth to say that this was _definitely_ a mistake, but when I do it’s already too late.

GARY

Everything happens very quickly.

The ladder gives way, and I don’t even think twice.

I leap forward over my windowsill and grab Mark’s hands, hard. The ladder noisily falls sideways to the ground beneath us.

I’m not letting go of him. I won’t.

Mark struggles against the brick wall in the dead space between here and the ground. My grip on his hands is loosening.

I picture Mark lying on the grass, hurt, and a dreadful shot of adrenaline allows me to pull him into my bedroom so hard that we both tumble to the floor and take every single object on my desk flying along with us.

He lands on top of me, hard. I let out a cry of pain as my head hits the floor, and my heart skips a beat when the light in the hallway flickers on and I hear my mum _knocking_ — _on_ — _my_ — _actual_ — _door_.

MARK

Gary’s mum has heard us. Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my _God._

GARY

I try not to think about how long my mum must have been standing in the hallway. I try not to think about what she might have heard. I just lie through my teeth and hope she won’t come in.

 MARK

I hardly hear Gary’s mum when she asks him if he’s all right. All I can do is scramble off Gary’s body as though I’m electrocuted and leap underneath his desk like a scared cat.

GARY

This is the fucking worst.

‘Gary? Are you all right?’ my mum asks me again. I can already picture her standing outside my door, her hand on the doorknob as she’s about to come in.

If she does my life is over.

MARK

I’m shaking from head to toe. I’m terrified I’ll get caught, but I’m even more terrified that the floor underneath my feet will give way and I’ll still hit the ground.

‘Y-yeah,’ Gary rasps. He’s red in the face. I’ve never seen him like that. ‘Sorry. T-thanks, mum,’ he says to his closed door before looking at me and putting his finger to his lips. He doesn’t need to tell me twice.

I move my hands and feel carpet. I see clothes on the floor. Gary’s desk chair towers above me from my hiding place underneath the desk. My elbow hits his school rucksack, and I start. Every part of me feels like it’s on edge.

I almost fell. I could have _died_ out there.

But I didn’t. I’m here. Gary saved me.

I’m _here_.

Gary’s mum still hasn’t left. She’s a bit like my own mum. ‘You sure, love? Do you need me to come in? If you broke something we can fix it like we did with your desk lamp last month.’

We both glance at the plastic lamp on the floor. Its fall broke the bulb and has draped the room with a certain kind of darkness that only the streetlamps outside can shine through. I only now notice that the lamp’s exterior was held together with cello tape.

‘Nothing broke, mum,’ Gary lies. His voice sounds high-pitched. ‘I, er, I just hit me knee against the desk is all.’

This is followed by a long silence. Then I can hear Gary’s mum sigh. ‘I did tell your dad to get you a new desk,’ she says, more to herself than to her son. Apparently, this settles the conversation for her. I don’t care to figure out why. ‘Don’t go to bed too late, all right?’

‘I – I won’t, mum,’ Gary says, but then he looks over at me again and I know he’s lying. We both stay on the floor to listen to Gary’s mum’s footsteps fading away down the hallway until the closing of a distant door makes Gary get up. He turns on a lamp on the ceiling and holds out his hand to me in my hiding place.

My legs are shaking when I get up, so I look round me for a place to sit down. The first thing I see is Gary’s single bed shoved between the wall and a wardrobe, the same place my own bed is in. I don’t want to sit there. I don’t want to go there yet. Instead I make an attempt to turn Gary’s chair towards me, but Gary tells me not to.

‘It’ll give you a hernia, that thing,’ he whispers, and he puts his hand on my arm and leads me to the bed. I feel a chill run down my spine when I sit down and feel his mattress dip beneath my bum. I feel the matrass spring up again when Gary sits next to me.

I try not to look at him. Instead, I look round me. It’s scary how much Gary’s room resembles mine. The bed and wardrobe are in the same place, and even his desk looks like the one I have in my own room. Gary’s room is a bit messier, though. There are notebooks and clothes and magazines all over the floor, and I think Gary must’ve made his bed seconds before he came out to see me because the sheets are creased. I don’t think I’d be able to sleep in a room that looks like this.

Eventually, I have no choice but to say something. ‘This is not what I had in mind,’ I mumble, and the ridiculousness of the situation prompts us to laugh until Gary remembers where we are and he has to shush us both.

‘You mean you thought you’d climb through me window without almost dyin’?’

I don’t laugh. ‘I guess.’

‘How are you, anyway?’

I look at my hands. ‘Grateful that you caught me.’

Gary goes silent. ‘I wish you’d said you were coming, mate, I could have prepared,’ he finally says. I don’t know if he means physically or mentally. I don’t even know what almost-couples do when they go to each other’s rooms. I’m guessing talking and kissing, but I’m still too aware that I almost died to bring it up.

I still can’t look at him. ‘Maybe I should have thought this through.’

GARY

‘Maybe,’ I say, but I don’t mean it. I love that Mark went through all this trouble for me. It means I’ll get away with it when I put my hand on his knee and squeeze him there.

MARK

 _Oh_.

He’s — he’s touching me. No one’s ever touched me _there_ before.

His hand sends a flush of warmth through my knee and then the rest of my body, and I’m lost for words again. I can’t believe this is happening. In another world, the ladder would have given way and I would have hit my head on the ground.

But not today. Today, I’m here, in Gary’s room, with his hand touching me like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

GARY

Mark looks flustered. It’s cute. He looks at me like the last boy I took home did, and I realize he must’ve come here for only one reason.

I also realize he’s probably never done this before.

I offer him something to drink. I don’t remove my hand. ‘I can get you beer if you want?’

‘I don’t drink.’

‘You don’t drink or you’ve just never tried it?’

‘Y-yeah.’

This does not answer my question, but I don’t push it further because he already looks nervous enough as is. ‘Coke, then?’

He shakes his head.

‘Orange juice? Milk? Water?’

He shakes his head again. I’m guessing he’s just trying to be polite. ‘I’m fine.’

I use the conversation’s pause to take him in. His hands are folded on his lap. His eyes are everywhere but at me. There’s a persistent flush on his cheeks, and I actually think he’s shaking. I don’t think it has anything to do with the near-death experience he just went through. He looks bloody nervous actually, but he did make an effort before coming here tonight. He smells nice. He probably took a shower before coming here. His hair is combed and he’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that shows off his thin, athletic body.

He’s definitely here to lose his virginity.

‘You’ve never done this before, have you, Mark?’ I ask. I’ve already forgotten the song I was supposed to work on.

He looks at me for a fraction of a second, then turns his gaze to his hands. ‘If I had I’d have brought a bigger ladder.’

I laugh. ‘You’re cute.’

His gaze turns hopeful. He looks at me again, fixedly. I know that look. ‘Really?’

MARK

I feel Gary looking me up and down again, and I feel the strange urge to lean in and kiss him. I wonder if that’s really what people do when they kiss.

‘ _Really_ ,’ he says, and my heartbeat speeds up. He thinks I’m cute. I’m cute. His hands move up my leg, and I feel my body experiencing the entire fall from the ladder again, but better. It’s like I’m being dropped from a large height and Gary’s there to catch my fall at the bottom of a wonderful cliff. ‘Do you think I’m cute too, Mark?’

I stammer when I feel Gary’s fingers curl around my thigh like he owns it. ‘Y-yeah.’

‘ _Good_ ,’ he purrs. He moves his hand to my cheek and slowly dips forward to kiss me, and I feel the insides of my tummy kick when he presses his soft lips on mine. I can feel the tingle on my mouth and the warmth of Gary’s palm on my cheek, but after that my mind goes completely blank. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I’ve seen people kiss in films and on telly and in the corridors at school, but I’ve never thought about what they were actually doing and I feel like I’m doing something wrong when Gary groans against my mouth and pulls me closer. 

GARY

It’s not a good kiss. It’s a peck, more like.

I part my lips and hope Mark will follow suit so I can kiss him properly, but he firmly keeps his lips together like they’re fixed together with glue.

MARK

It’s like I’ve been turned to stone. I stare at Gary’s eyelashes and know I should close my eyes too and try to enjoy it, but I’m too scared that if I do I’ll forget where I am and ruin it. Eventually, Gary drops his hand from my cheek and looks at me like I’m a puzzle he has to solve. I feel my hands shaking in my lap, and I realize with shame that the kiss only lasted five seconds. It felt like minutes in my head.

GARY

When I stop kissing Mark and lean back, I can see him staring back at me like he’s bloody terrified. The colour has been drained from his cheeks and his blue eyes are so dilated that he looks like a deer in headlights. It’s not a good look, even for him.

The last time I kissed someone in my room we ended up fucking on my desk and breaking my lamp, so this is a new one. I know there’s almost precisely a year between us and that Mark’s definitely still a virgin, but I never thought he’d never been kissed before. I mean, he’s _sixteen_. That’s a pretty weird age to kiss someone for the first time.

I try to smile at him even though I’m disappointed. ‘That was your first kiss, wasn’t it?’

He nods. A red flush makes its way through his cheeks. I notice that his hands are shaking, so I take them in mine and look into his eyes until he looks away shyly.

MARK

‘I should have said,’ I mumble. ‘Prepared you for how crap I am.’

I feel dead embarrassed that I can’t even do something as simple as kiss someone. My mates talk about sex and kissing and touching all the time, but it’s really much harder than it looks because one moment you’re talking to someone and the next thing you know you no longer remember how to move your head.

I can’t believe I went to Gary’s thinking I could just do this. I can’t. I tell him so.

‘Nonsense,’ Gary says, and he squeezes my hand tighter. It makes me feel warm inside, so I look at him again. ‘You don’t wanna know how bad my first kiss was, mate. The other guy was so keen I ended up with a bloody concussion. I had to tell my parents I’d fallen and hit me head.’

I chuckle weakly. ‘You just made that up.’

‘Nope. True story.’ He looks at my hands in his, then lifts up my left hand and kisses my fingers. It sends a tingle down my arm that reverberates throughout my entire body until he kisses me there again. And again. My hand tingles until Gary decides to let go of it and gives me the kind of smile that makes you feel butterflies. ‘We don’t have to kiss yet if you don’t think you’re ready.’

I pout. ‘I am. I’m just no good at it.’

GARY

‘You will be,’ I reassure him. ‘These things take time.’

‘What if it takes forever?’

‘It won’t. Promise. We’ll just try again later.’

I’m almost tempted to get Mark drunk so he’ll stop being so bloody nervous, but if we do end up kissing each other again I want to make sure it’s so good he’ll remember it. I know my kisses can be bloody amazing if the other guy’s keen enough, and I can tell that Mark still is.

‘You sure you don’t want to drink anything?’ I ask. I’m absolutely thirsty myself.

‘N-no, thank you, Gary.’

‘You _sure_ , Mark? I know you’re just being polite so I don’t have to go through the trouble of heading down.’

Silence. Then, ‘Orange juice, please, Gary. Actually — C-coke will do too if you have any, Gaz.’

‘Coke, okay. Anything else?’

‘A biscuit would be nice I g-guess,’ he stammers.

I make a note of it in my head while I get up. Coke and biscuits. Biscuits and coke. Easy.

I’m about to head to the door when I remember something crucial and turn to my almost-boyfriend again. ‘Oh, and don’t get off the bed,’ I say. I wink at him, and he goes bright red. ‘The floor creaks if you don’t know where to step. Better not let me parents know you’re here, eh? ’

MARK

Gary slips out of the door before I can say something. It’s not until I hear his footsteps fade down the unfamiliar hallway that I realize with a pang that Gary tried kissing me.

He _kissed_ me. On my _mouth_. Oh my God.

I put my fingers to my lips and try to replicate the pressure I felt, but it doesn’t feel the same. Gary’s lips were soft and warm. They were tender and gentle. They knew exactly what they were doing, but I didn’t and I probably never will.

I cringe when I think about it. A flush of embarrassment comes over me as I remember how petrified I felt when Gary was kissing me. I couldn’t even close my eyes like he did. Nothing I was doing or not doing made sense.

How stupid am I?

GARY

I try not to think about my kiss with Mark when I walk down the stairs and try to avoid the shit my parents have left there. There’s shoes, piles of magazines, dog food boxes and yet more shoes at the bottom of the stairs. It’s a bloody mess to be honest, but I don’t bother taking care of it. As long as my own bedroom smells vaguely of clean sheets and not of the things I was doing the night before, I’m all right with the way my house looks. I don’t even bother making my bed most days unless someone comes over.

I bet Mark’s house is a lot cleaner than mine. He looks like the kind of guy who cleans his bedroom regularly and folds his clothes when he gets undressed. He probably has a million post-its plastered on his walls to remind him of the exams and school projects he has to prepare for. I could never be like that, but then again we aren’t very alike at all. He plays football, I go to piano practice. He does his homework, I don’t.

I know how to kiss someone, he doesn’t.

I don’t mind. I already know we’ll be trying again later. A bad kiss doesn’t and shouldn’t bother me because God knows I’ve been through a few myself.

My parents don’t hear me coming. I quietly sneak into the kitchen with one of my own love songs stuck in my head and pop open a few cupboards as noiselessly as I can. I know that the cupboard above the oven is usually filled from top to bottom with plastic bowls and spoons, so I leave it in case something tumbles down and lets my parents know I’m here.

I quickly put together a plate of biscuits. They look like they probably expired a week ago, but it’ll do. I make sure there’s enough of them for both of us and manage to find two plastic cups in a larder. I close all the cupboards again, squeeze a litre bottle of coke under my armpit and head back to the kitchen door with my hands full. I peek round the corner, then speed-walk my way back up the stairs when I’m absolutely sure my parents haven’t seen me.

I’m used to walking the stairs with my hands full by now, so I reach the landing with ease. I sneak back into my room before my parents can notice that I’ve done anything stupid and quickly close my door with my foot. Mark gets up when he sees that I’m carrying half the contents of our kitchen, but I tell him there’s no need and he sinks back onto my bed in exactly the same position as before. I don’t think he moved an inch while I was gone.

I lay out the refreshments as well as I can without making a mess of it and proffer Mark the plate of biscuits. He ends up taking the smallest one. ‘You can take a bigger biscuit too if you want, Mark.’

‘m’alright,’ Mark says with his mouth full.

‘You sure?’

He takes another bite and nods. He’s so polite I’m probably gonna have to remind him there’s a toilet on the first floor if he ever needs to take a piss.

I put the plate of biscuits back on my desk and get to work with the bottle of coke. I unscrew its cap with a bit of an effort and fill both our glasses about half-way so that it doesn’t foam over, then pour in a little bit more. When I’m satisfied I’ve given Mark just that little bit more to drink than myself, I hand him his glass and sit next to him. We drink in silence until Mark clears his throat and he nods at my cassette recorder on my desk.

‘What’s that?’ he asks.

‘That’s me recorder, that.’

‘What’s it do?’

‘It records stuff.’ Mark rolls his eyes, so I end up getting up and grabbing the device for him. He watches, mesmerised, how I turn over the recorder in my hands and press play. A short fragment of the song I started yesterday starts playing until the melody turns into white noise and I have to turn off the recorder again. ‘Whenever I come up with a song I’ll record it with this,’ I explain. ‘I’ve got about twenty tapes of me just singing rubbish.’

‘I doubt _all_ of it is rubbish.’

That’s kind of him, but it’s not true. ‘A lot of it is,’ I say. ‘I was trying to finish a song before you got here, actually.’

Mark takes another sip. Then another. ‘Is that why you were shirtless?’

I chuckle. I was starting to wonder if he’d ever bring it up. ‘No. I’d dozed off while I was tryin’ to put me pyjamas on.’

This does more harm than good. Mark’s face falls. ‘I didn’t wake you up, did I?’

 _Thank God you did,_ I think. ‘Do I look like I mind?’

MARK

I blush. ‘I guess not.’

I look at the recorder in his hands. I feel like I should ask him something about his songs, but I don’t know enough about music to keep a conversation going. I don’t really know what boys talk about when they come up to each other’s rooms at all, to be honest. (I mean, I’ve obviously been to mates’ rooms and talked to them about football and shows on the telly and all that, but I never _fancied_ them. Talking is a lot easier that way.) I just imagined we’d be doing a lot of kissing and touching, but obviously I’m not really good at that yet so I haven’t got a clue what we could talk about next. Maybe I should just ask him a stupid question about school and hope he doesn’t mind. 

I clear my throat. ‘So, er, how’s school going?’

GARY

Bless him. He’s brave enough to sneak out of his house and climb through a guy’s bedroom in the middle of the night but he wouldn’t be able to flirt with a tree.

MARK

‘It’ll do,’ Gary says eventually. ‘I’m not really getting any good grades but I’m managing to hold on all right. My classmates are nice. That helps. I’d rather sing for a living full-time, though.’ He looks at me intently, and I already know what he’s about to say. Every word of it. ‘I really wish you’d come see me.’

I look away shyly. It’s not the first time he’s asked me to come to his pub. He’s asked me every Friday since we started talking to each other, and I’ve said no every single time because I just can’t imagine going there and enjoying it. And it’s not that I don’t _want_ to, because I do – _really_ –, it’s just that I’m terrified that if I do people will know we’re together.

‘I can’t,’ I say. I can feel my hands shaking again, so I put my glass of Coke on Gary’s bedside table and stare at my lap.

‘Why not?’

‘Because people will know we’re . . .’

I can’t finish my sentence. I’m too embarrassed to say what I’d like Gary to be out loud. I want him to be my boyfriend and my lover, but I’m too scared to make it real even though it already feels like he’s my _something_ after all the talks we’ve had.

If I make it real everyone will find out what I am and who I’m doing it with and I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. Right now it feels too good to just do this, meeting up and having fun without anyone knowing. I know Gary probably feels the same, but it’s hard to tell when he’s obviously already had so many boyfriends before me. I don’t know what he did with them and I’m not sure if I want to.

Gary’s already finished his coke, so he grabs the bottle from his desk and refills his cup halfway. He takes a big sip, then another, and then looks at me as if he’s about to choose his words really carefully. I think he’s probably rehearsed these lines.

‘Look, mate, I don’t really want to come out yet either, all right, but it’s not as if people will suspect anything when you come see me.’ I think about it. He’s probably right. He usually is. ‘We don’t have to hang out or anything, I just want you to hear me sing is all.’

He smiles at me, and the world turns upside down. Before Gary, that feeling existed only in films and comic books. It’s not something I’d ever experienced.

But then he opens his mouth again, and what I thought I knew about tingles and butterflies changes forever. ‘I could play you a song you like as well.’

GARY

 _Bingo_.

MARK

I feel warm inside. ‘Y-you’d d-do that for me?’

I don’t know why I’m stammering. I must know what’s coming.  

GARY

I look at Mark’s lips. He licks them unconsciously, and I just know that he’s ready to be played with.

MARK

He puts his cup on the floor and places his hand on mine.

GARY

I don’t warm him.

I don’t need to.

MARK

Gary’s next words change everything. ‘For my boyfriend? Anything,’ he says, and I’m convinced that it’s him who leans forward and kisses me but it’s actually _me_ who’s doing the moving and _me_ who makes Gary moan softly when I kiss him.

GARY

It feels like a fucking trip. Heat shoots through my body when Mark parts his lips and allows me to slip my tongue inside. I’m suddenly nervous. He’s not. He pushes his mouth against mine harder and I swear something in him has changed because this is nothing like the inexperienced Mark who didn’t know how to kiss back ten minutes ago.

MARK

I’ve never felt like this before. It’s like I want to grab something that is out of reach and that something is Gary.

GARY

He’s keener this time. I think he actually knows what he’s getting himself into now.

MARK

I stop breathing just as Gary fists the fabric of my shirt and pulls me closer. I can feel heat rise up my chest and warm me up inside. I don’t give it a second thought when Gary bites my bottom lip and I suddenly realise this is what I’ve always wanted my first kiss to be like. If I wanted it to be sweet and lovely and gentle I would have asked him to kiss me underneath the stars like in my fantasies of him, but I didn’t. I won’t. This is terrifying and a little bit odd and I don’t know whether I’m supposed to laugh or cry when Gary’s mouth moves to my ear and his kisses feel like he’s ticking me, but I’m feeling so high that I never want to come down ever again.

GARY

I can tell he’s turned on when I kiss his ear. He’s got that rosy-cheeked look about him. I suppose even good boys who usually do what they’re told get hot and bothered if you love and touch them right.

The thought excites me. It’s as though I’ve unlocked a part of him that even Mark didn’t know existed. I wonder what more I could unlock and elicit from his fuckable body if continue teasing him. He’s probably gagging to be jerked off by now.

I move my hand down his chest and pause at the belt of his trousers. He looks at me with the same scared eyes as before, but I can tell that he wants this.

MARK

His hands start unbuckling my belt. I don’t know how to respond when he moves his lips to my ear again and tells me he’s going to touch me _there_. The word he uses is so filthy that I can’t bear to repeat it. He loosens my belt and pulls down my zipper, and I think I might faint when Gary slips his hand inside my boxers and touches my willy like he’s already done it a million times. I feel a strong kick of guilt rise up my chest, but then Gary squeezes me and the feeling disappears before it can take over.

GARY

He’s sporting a semi already, and I can tell it embarrasses him. He’s big, and probably bigger than me once I’m done touching him.

I more or less manage to free him from his boxers and start stroking him. He keeps his trousers on. He gets hard quickly. He’s definitely got a bigger cock than me, and he turns absolutely scarlet when I tell him how huge he is. I’m already thinking about how much fun I’m gonna have with him later, but right now I just wanna get him off and show him how bloody good we’re together.

MARK

He’s good at this. He twists his wrist just right and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

He’s quick. I’m moaning. Gary tells me not to. He moves his fist up and down my willy so fast that I can barely handle it. Then he slows down again and kisses me in time with his touches and I feel so warm inside that it’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven. A second later, I come back alive and decide ‘more’ is the only thing I want.

GARY

The touch of Mark’s fingers takes me by surprise. I don’t know what’s come over him when he puts his hand on my leg and squeezes me there. He mumbles something incomprehensible before he kisses me again rather messily and fumbles with the drawstring of my pyjama pants. I bear ten seconds of Mark nervously trying to take my bloody pants off until I get up and do it myself. By the time I’ve sat down again, Mark’s hand are already on my cock. I don’t bother taking my shirt off, which turns out to be a bit of a mistake.

He goes off to a bad start. His fist is too tight and I usually liked to be jerked off slower, but I can’t complain. He’s trying. He’s learning. I curse when he touches my balls with his nails. A second later, he’s touching me there again, better. Slower. Every second he’s not kissing me he looks at me with a mix of fear and excitement on his face that I just want to fuck off of him. I still can’t believe this is the same Mark who was too afraid to kiss me back.

I don’t hold back when I kiss his neck. ‘I just knew you were a bad boy, Mark,’ I purr into his ear as we jerk each other off. He turns bright red, but he doesn’t stop touching me. If anything, he’s become even more willing. (Note to self: Mark potentially likes dirty talk. Fucking _brilliant_.)

I decide I want more too. I want the high. I slap Mark’s hand away and tell him to sit on my lap.

MARK

 _Oh_.

GARY

‘Sit on my lap, Mark,’ I say again. I have to resist the urge to call him something I know I’ll regret. ‘I know you want to.’ I say it firmly, and I can see Mark’s previous nervousness flicker in his eyes again. He doesn’t know what’s about to happen. But I do. He moves eventually, and we’re suddenly sitting so close that our cocks touch and I’m able to jerk us both off with one hand. I don’t point out how much thicker I am.

MARK

I can’t describe what it feels like. There’s friction and a build-up and a burning sensation in my stomach and I have to hide my face in Gary’s neck when it gets worse.

GARY

He starts shaking, and this time I don’t tell him off for moaning. If my mum asks, I’ll tell her it’s the same poltergeist I made up when me and my ex knocked over that desk lamp.

He can’t watch me touch him anymore. His breathing feels heavy against my skin. I try to think of moments that were better than this, of songs and performances and live shows and lyrics that I’ve written, but it really doesn’t get any better than Mark spasming against my chest and coming with a whimper.

I don’t take long either. Mark wraps his arms around my body and whispers something _unbelievable_ in my ear, and I come so hard that I have to bite my lip to stop myself from shouting out. I kiss him quietly until the high passes and I see that my shirt is absolutely ruined with stains. So much for subtlety.

Mark sees me looking. He blushes again. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbles.

‘It needed a wash anyway.’  

Mark’s still sitting on my lap, arms hovering on my sides, and I take the opportunity to brush the hair off his forehead and take him in. I always assumed I must have looked different after I’d had my first handjob, but Mark still looks as beautiful and young as he did before he got there. What we did hasn’t changed what we have. It’s just made it easier to tell him I love him.

MARK

I’m shaking. I feel tingly and happy all over. I don’t think I’ve ever had an orgasm that good before.

I feel like I can’t breathe when Gary puts his hands on my back and looks at me. It’s a look I’ve never seen in anyone’s eyes before, and I already know that Gary will probably be the first and last person to ever look at me like that. Suddenly I’m convinced that true loves exists and that me and him are living it.

The tingle I’m feeling doesn’t stop when Gary starts rubbing my back. The feeling’s still there when he kisses my lips and then the tip of my nose, and I don’t think it can get any better when he tells me he loves me.

It takes me by surprise. He says it again. ‘I love you.’

I smile at him shyly. I don’t feel as brave as I did when I was kissing him. ‘I – I don’t know what to say,’ I stammer.

‘You don’t have to say anything,’ he says. ‘I just wanted you to know that. And that you have a really, _really_ nice cock,’ he adds in a low whisper before kissing my ear again. It makes me giggle, and Gary has to shush me again to remind me to stay quiet. He glances at the door more nervously than I’ve seen him all night. ‘If my mum finds out you’re here I’m gonna be I’m so much trouble. What if she heard you moaning?’

‘I – I wasn’t moaning.’

‘You _were_ , mate.’

I don’t know what to say, so I ignore it. ‘What’d you think about _my_ mum, Gaz? I’ll never be let into the house again . . .’

My own comment reminds me I’ve been away from home for more than an hour now. It feels like a lot less, but if my parents find out I’ve been gone I’ll be grounded for the rest of the year. I’ve never walked away from home in the middle of the night before and I’m not sure if being with Gary makes it better or worse.

I eventually decide it’s the latter and sheepishly look down at my own half-naked body. I mumble something about having to get back home before nervously getting up from Gary’s lap and pulling my pants back up. Gary groans when I do, but he still starts getting dressed too.

‘Look, I loved what we did tonight, all right,’ Gary says as he ties the drawstring of his pyjama pants into a neat little bow, ‘but I was hoping we could do a lil’ bit more to be honest with you, Mark. Just sayin’.’

GARY

I’m not about to push him into something he doesn’t want to do. If he wants to go home then that’s his prerogative. I get it. I mean, we’ve all got to go home at some point.

But _God_ , do I want him. Maybe not today, but some day. Tomorrow. Sometime next week. But please let it be soon.

MARK

What I like about Gary is that he doesn’t sound like he’s about to push me into doing something I’m not ready for. He doesn’t sound desperate or disappointed. He just wanted more, fact. And so did I, I think, but the urge to get home before my parents find out that I’m here is far stronger than anything Gary can ever convince me of doing. 

‘I know. Me too. I’m sorry.’ His smile tells me he I don’t have to explain myself. I feel a little less bad about leaving already. I brush my fingers through my hair and straighten my clothes. ‘Does my shirt look all right?’

‘Better than mine,’ he huffs. ‘Next time we’re doing this naked, mate. Hang on, where are you going?’

I stop in the middle of my stride when I’m about to head to Gary’s bedroom window. I hadn’t really thought about how I was going to head back home after I’d gotten here, but I do know taking the normal route wasn’t what I’d had in mind. I was actually just planning to climb back out and find something soft to land onto. Maybe I can climb down using Gary’s bedsheets given that they’re probably a bit dirty anyway.

Gary looks like he has a different idea. He gets up from his bed before I can open his window and takes my hand in his. It’s a little sticky, but I don’t mind. I think. It feels good. Wrong, but good. Like the stains on his shirt.

‘Take the front door,’ he says, and I feel my guilty conscience make a cartwheel. I can’t go through his _front door_!

‘But . . .’

‘No buts. I can’t have you climb out of the window again. Not after what we did.’ He looks me in the eye, and it’s like he’s kissing and touching me all over again. I don’t know how he does it. I always thought that tingles and butterflies and the other thing is something that only happens to people in films and books, but here I am, feeling tingles and butterflies.

I wonder if there’s anything better than what I’m feeling right now.

‘We had fun, yeah?’ Gary adds after I feel like he’s stared into my soul forever. He rubs his thumb along the back of my hand, and it feels more intimate than anything we’ve done so far.

The gesture makes me blush. ‘Yeah. We had fun.’

GARY

It’s bloody infuriating when he blushes. It’s like he’s _challenging_ me to kiss him again.

Fuck this shit.

MARK

He looks down at my red, swollen lips, and I don’t protest when he kisses me again and pushes me forward so I’m pressed between his desk and his body. I feel warmer immediately. I unconsciously jerk my hips when I feel his tongue push open my lips. His crotch touches mine and his hands trail the undersides of my shirt, but he doesn’t go further than kissing me. He does it so well that I’m gasping for air again when we finally pull apart.

‘Sorry,’ he whispers. He sounds turned on. _Still._ He removes his hands from my sides and touches my creased shirt as if he’s trying to brush a leaf or bit of fluff off of it. His hand touches my chest for longer than I can handle. ‘Couldn’t let you go with another kiss.’

I don’t understand the way he’s looking at me. I can’t describe it. It’s like this weird mix of want and curiosity that I’ve never seen before.

Except — I _can_ describe it. I know this feeling because I feel it every time I look at him.

It’s ‘need’. Gary’s needy — for _me_.

I’ve never made someone feel like that before. I didn’t know that was something that could actually happen.

My hands accidentally touch the desk behind me, and I know Gary’s watching my every move. For the first time in my life, I realise that I could let a boy do anything I’ve ever wanted. It makes me feel powerful and terrified at the same time because I don’t know what kinds of things I really want deep inside.

My voice sounds funny when I speak. ‘Are you saying you’re really desperate for me, Mr. Barlow?’

GARY

Bloody hell, Mark. Just say you want me to bloody fuck you.

MARK

I watch Gary’s mouth when he bites his lip. ‘ _Yeah_.’

My eye is drawn to the clock in the corner of Gary’s Depeche Mode wall. It’s ten past ten. My parents never check in on me, but the unwritten rule is that I have to be in bed by 10:30 because every day is an early start for me. (I don’t think I’ve ever been late to school except for that time my friend Dave came round at eight in the morning with pancakes.)

I realize I’ve still got about twenty minutes to spare, and suddenly I’m not so sure if I want to go home already after all. In my mind, I can already picture myself hopping onto the desk behind me and letting Gary kiss me. He’ll probably be kind and gentle when he takes my pants off and touches my willy again. Maybe he’ll even use his mouth this time. I wonder what that feels like. After, we’ll move back to the bed and I’ll finally lose my virginity like I’d been planning to all along. Maybe I won’t even have to go back home at all.

I look at Gary again. I know he’s thinking the same thing.

We could _do_ this. I probably wouldn’t be any good at it, but I don’t care. I want this. I want _him_. I want to touch and discover every part of his body until I no longer know which parts to touch and I have to start all over again.

And then I decide I don’t. Yet.

In the end, all I can do is be a good boy and a tease.

‘Better not get caught, then,’ I say, bravely, before I place my hand on the doorknob. I give Gary one last look before I open the door and tiptoe down the Barlows’ hallway with my heart in my throat.

GARY

Mark doesn’t let me watch. He closes the door in front of me like the bloody tease he’s clearly become, and for the next nail-biting two minutes all I can do is pray and listen. His footsteps are so soft I have to press my ear against my door. He walks slowly. I cringe when I hear his foot tread on a squeaky piece of flooring, but I don’t think my parents heard it. They can’t have. The next second, I think he’s walking down the stairs. I’m imagining him doing so extremely carefully, like he’s walking on hot coals and every step could be fatal. I suppose in a way, that’s exactly what his visit has been like: dangerous, reckless, life-threatening and oh - so - hot.

Things go eerily quiet for what feels like an age. I almost fear he’s been spotted, but then I hear the sound of the front door opening and I’m able to breathe a sigh of relief. He made it. He snuck into my fucking bedroom in the middle of the night and no one will ever know.

I fucking _love_ life.

MARK

The high I’m still on makes it easier to sneak out of Gary’s house undetected. The entire time, I feel like I’m a secret agent in the films I love to watch at the cinema. The only thing that’s missing is the nice cars and a pretty lady at my side, but I guess I’m not the sort of secret agent who goes in for that sort of thing.

Before I know it I’m back on the streets. I’m scared that someone will see me and know what I’ve done, but I don’t meet anyone on the trip back home. I make my way round to my house pretty quickly. My sister’s cat is the first creature I meet, and she purrs happily when I grab my keys and open the front door for the both of us. My hands are still a little shaky, but I still manage to close the door as quietly as I can.

I don't feel any different when I take off my shoes and put back the keys that I'd taken. Maybe I’ll feel more changed when Gary finally makes love to me, but right now I know I just feel like little old me again. You always assume that when you kiss someone for the first time you'll feel older and wiser, but it doesn't work like that. I'm still short and I still don't know how to boil an egg. I'm still me. (Okay, maybe I've gotten a little bit naughtier, but only a little bit.) I do feel bad about what I did, but only the sneaking out and stealing my dad's keys part. I don't feel bad about the rest of it.

After I've made sure that my parents are definitely still watching TV, I tiptoe up the stairs and make my way to my bedroom. I don't meet anyone and I'm back in my room in a jiffy. It's only when I close my door that I realize I don't know what people do after they've been to someone else's bedroom. I know I should probably sleep or finish my homework or think about what I wanna do at football practice tomorrow, but it feels strange to do something so normal so soon after touching Gary. I'm scared that if I do the memory of tonight will vanish. I don't want that to happen. I don't think I want Gary to ever vanish at all.

I want Gary to stay here, in my heart, forever. I don't want to go to bed yet and be like a normal kid who does homework and goes to bed early. Not tonight. After all, how can I sleep with the ghost of Gary’s hands still on my skin?

GARY

I know it's a cliché, but I can't sleep. Not that I've actually gone and laid down in my bed and tried, but I don't think I'd be getting much sleep done anyway. Instead, I decide to get back to the song I was tinkering with earlier. I was too tired to finish it, but I'm on cloud nine now. It would be a waste of good energy if I didn’t try to finish what I’d started tonight.

I don’t bother putting on a different shirt. I grab my songbook from the shelf I put it on and sit down at my desk. My curtains are still open, so if I look out of my window I can see the shape of Mark’s windows in front of me like a dark, rectangular frame. We’re two back gardens apart, but it feels like we’re closer now that we’ve taken our relationship further.

I wish Mark would open his curtains again so I could see him one last time. I’m not sure if he’s ready to make a habit of coming over yet, but I’ll be ready for him when he does. Until then, I’d be happy to just stare at him from across the grass for a little while longer. As much as I’d love to get to know him better, we don’t have to have sex yet. We can take each step as it comes until there’s no more need to take things slow.

I open my notebook on the same page I left it. I haven’t added any lyrics since I started working on it, but that’s all right. I’m feeling reignited with a kind of buzz I haven’t felt since I had my first kiss two or three years ago, and the words come so quickly that my pen can hardly keep up. Every time I think I can’t possibly come up with a better lyric or melody another one pops up in my head, and eventually I have to grab my recorder and record what I’m thinking because I can’t write it all down.

The song’s good. I’m feeling fucking _brilliant_.

I can’t recall when I decide that the song’s finished. One moment I’m still jotting down lyrics, the next I finally feel like I can sit back and read what I’ve written. It takes just one quick look to decide it’s done. You can tinker with a song as much as you like, but you only get one chance to get it right and I think I’ve pulled it off.

I don’t bother pressing play on my recorder to hear the other lyrics I came up with. I already know it’s perfect as is. It’s beautiful and everything I want my relationship with Mark to be like. Tomorrow, I’ll convince him to come over again so I can read it to him. I bet he’ll love it.

I read through the entire thing one more time, then write down the title I had in mind and put it on the top of the page. Call me cheesy, but I decide to name it after the one person whose curtains I’m watching.

Just as I’m about to close my notebook and put it where no-one can find it, I can see the lights in bedroom’s window flicker on. I wait with bated breath to watch the curtains of Mark’s bedroom windows slide open and feel a guilty twinge in the back of my stomach when I see him looking right back at me. He’s changed into his pyjamas in the dark.

Bloody tease.

I can’t quite tell from this distance, but I think he’s still got that nice post-orgasm glow about him. He looks good. Happy. I don’t think his parents spotted him on his way back, which is a fucking miracle really as his sister’s cat pounces on people’s feet when they so much walk past the fence. She’s like a guard dog, that creature.

We can’t talk. Mark makes a ‘scribbling’ gesture in the air as if he wants me to write something down, and I look around me for a piece of paper. I’ve run out, so I dive underneath my desk and fish my A4 geography notebook from my rucksack. I don’t know what he wants me to write (‘How are you?’ seems a bit weird given that we’ve just seen and jerked each other off), so I just shrug at him questioningly.

Mark’s in charge this time. He shrugs too, and my heart gives a stupid kick when I watch him disappear and then come back again with a piece of paper saying ‘I’. Just that. ‘I’. It’s not even a bloody word. (Or maybe it’s a lowercase ‘L’? Fuck knows.)

Thoroughly confused already, I write a big question mark in my geography notebook and show it to him. He shrugs like he knows more than me and removes his piece of paper so that a different letter becomes visible beneath it. It’s definitely an ‘L’ this time, which makes even less sense.

I’m tempted to show Mark my question mark again, but then the L disappears and is replaced by an ‘O’. Mark’s hands keep moving and replacing pieces of paper until I realise he’s holding an entire pile of letters and I’m forced to write them all down. It’s not until Mark shows me another big ‘O’ that my stupid brain figures out what he’s trying to say.

MARK

_I love you too._


End file.
